


Til Dawn

by bovaria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bovaria/pseuds/bovaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and the reader have an agreement of being Friends with Benefits. The reader has feelings for Dean, but will never reveal them in order to not lose him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your ears picked up the telltale sound of an engine pulling up in front of your door. Twenty minutes ago you had responded to a text. It was simple, asking your location. You had briefly debated with yourself, answer it and get to see him, or ignore it and wonder if this would have been the one time he’d decide to stay the night.

Your heart got the better of you, convincing you that this would be the last time you’d say yes. If he left, then you’d wash your hands of everything and disappear, end all you had with him before he broke you down. Yet in the back of your mind lingered the knowledge that he would always hold that power over you, like a pendulum swaying above your head, Dean Winchester could just snap his fingers and you’d be there to please him.

You got on your feet, your soles padding softly as each step brought you closer to the pain his every touch produced, and the pleasure that it gave you when his lips stroked against your skin. Maybe if you lost yourself in the physical sensations you’d be able to bear through the way your heart constricted every single time he walked away.

It had all been an arrangement. Terms and conditions, sign the dotted line. The only thing missing would have been shaking his hand. Friends with benefits, just there for each other to relieve the physical urges, nothing else. No fine print. No ‘what if one of us developed feelings.’ There would be no sappy shit, because then that would end everything and that was the last thing you wanted.

Your hand wanted to tremble as it reached for the doorknob, but you reined in your feelings, bit the inside of your cheek, and opened the door. He stood before you, all broad shoulders and teasing smirk. His emerald eyes met yours, there was a quick wink and a brief greeting. Your lips were in the process of reciprocating his smile, but the moment had passed.

He required no permission to step in. You both knew the drill by now. Without preamble, your tank top hit the ground, accompanied by your denim shorts. Automatic motions stripped you both of your clothes. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you glanced up, being able to only gasp as he collided his body with yours.

You shivered when your back hit the cold bed sheets, arms wounding around his neck as he hovered above you. There were seldom any kisses exchanged and tonight was no exception. He only smiled as his hand quested down your frame, your legs parting to allow him access once he reached your pelvis. He was an expert, there was no question about it.

The tension left your limbs, relaxed you beneath him as his fingers began to work you to arousal. Every motion of his digits was calculated. He knew your weak spots, a flick of his thumb and you’d be a panting mess. Crooking his index and middle fingers and your back arched right off the mattress. Without knowing, you had raked nails across his shoulder blade. Red markings would be the only evidence of your presence once he left. But a shirt could always cover those, make him forget that he was ever so close to you in the first place.

“Ready?” he murmured, kneeling in between your parted thighs.

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at the ceiling. If you met his eyes, if he was able to read you like he did everyone else, then all of this would crumble to the ground. You couldn’t afford to lose the physical closeness, even if the emotions were absent.

“Okay, sweetheart,” you tried not to cringe at his words, playing it off as it hurting when he slid inside you. He apologized, pressed a kiss to your neck, stilling his movements. A part of you wanted to confuse these actions with the hope that he cared for you, but you knew it was in vain. Dean was not one to hurt those around him, and you were just part of that bunch.

“Move, Dean, move,” you pinched his side. He complied, his hips slowly retrieving before slamming into you. A mess of tangled limbs and shared pants brought the both of you to climax, his movements expertly taking you over the edge before him. Ever the gentleman, Dean Winchester.

“Y/N,” he moaned into your ear. You shushed him, kissed his cheek as he twitched inside you before he reached his peak. The way he collapsed on top of you, his lips sliding across your neck to press soft pecks to your collarbone, it all made you want to shove him away. Make him pick up his clothes and have him drive off without another word. But you remained quiet as he pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned to lie on your side, your back facing him. Swallowing thickly and as fast as you could, you thought that maybe it would help with the tears threatening to erupt unbidden from your eyes.

“You are fucking awesome, sweetheart,” he kissed your shoulder blade. You felt his hand on your waist, hesitant.

“I’m gonna shower, okay?” you clambered out of bed, shooting him a brief smile before stepping into the bathroom, slamming the door close behind you.

“I’m gonna—” Dean stopped mid-sentence, slamming his fist down on the mattress when he saw the door being shut.

He had wanted to show you, had wanted to take care of you. Itching to kiss your mouth, ravage you with affection, he had resigned himself to press a few pecks here and there. He had been extra careful tonight, not wanting to hurt you.

Abandoning his brother in a motel half an hour away, he had come out specifically to clear things out with you. He knew that this had been an agreement of only physical pleasure, there would be nothing else involved. But somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred out for Dean and he found his thoughts drifting to you often.

He loved how satisfying it felt to hold you close, feel your breath fan out across his skin, make you tremble under his touch. He began to find that he wanted to engage in conversations with you, ask you what you thought of various subjects, and not just exchange words when he had you in bed. He wanted to make you laugh breathlessly, wanted to see you driving as he rode in the passenger seat. He wanted to get to know you.

Yet he had been the one who brought up this agreement years ago. “Nothing but sex,” he had clearly stated. You had agreed and so far, you had been keeping your end of the bargain. He couldn’t just barge into your life and declare that he wanted more. That was not how things ran. You had your own life.

With regret, Dean got on his feet and gave the bathroom door a few knocks. “I’m gonna get going, sweetheart,” he announced.

There was a pause and he held his breath. Maybe you’d ask him to stay. “Okay, Dean, take care,” you responded.

“Bye, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath. Slowly, he made his way to the pile of clothes he had left behind and began to get dressed. Taking his time, he wanted to sit down and wait for you to come out when he heard the shower being turned off. He could hear you shuffling, probably scrambling for a towel and brushing your hair. He buttoned up his shirt, paused to keep listening to you, only to be met by silence.

You stood behind the closed door, your ears perking up at the sounds of someone getting dressed. Your heart skipped a beat at the realization that Dean was still there. You reached for the handle, wanting to burst through the doorway and make sure he hadn’t left. Yet you remained motionless, even halting your breath.

Something akin to a sigh reached your ears before a door was opened. It was soon closed and then silence.

Waiting a few more minutes to make sure, you stepped out of the bathroom to an empty room. Dean had left, just like you had expected.


	2. Here Comes the Sun

Weeks passed, meshing into a single scene of motel rooms and empty hunts. You’d take no notice of those around you, pouring out your anger in the monsters you’d trail after. Various times some other hunter would offer to accompany you, become your partner in a case or two. But you’d just give them the cold shoulder, wanting nothing but to be left alone.

You changed phone numbers, answered only when you knew that the person on the other line had nothing to do with Dean. Hoping that the Winchesters would never lay eyes on the obits you read, you began to solve small cases, ones that wouldn’t raise the eyebrows of elite hunters like them.

Between here and there, you began to mend yourself. Alcohol played a massive part in bandaging yourself back to a somewhat bearable state and you convinced yourself that Dean had not been running around in your mind all day long.

But nights were quite the opposite. You’d find yourself muttering his name every time you pleasured yourself, only being able to ease the tension whenever you’d imagine his skin sliding against yours, his length filling you to the brim. When the pleasure dissipated and you’d lie on your back, sheets sticking to your sweaty skin, resentment would settle in the pit of your stomach. The regret threatening to weigh you down and leave you there forever.

Somehow, you’d find yourself garnering enough willpower to get on your feet, continue the limbo you had been stuck in, and solve as many cases as you could. So long as it kept you occupied and far from accepting that you were not even close to mending your broken heart.

At times, you wanted to bang your head against the counter of whatever dinky bar you had stopped in for the week. People would shoot you worried looks, but one glare at those who attempted to approach you was enough to make them know that they were not welcomed to talk to you.

Your phone would light up with calls, some you’d answer, others you left unattended. Bobby’s name was the only one who persevered, at times rousing you in the middle of the night, when Dean was in the middle of kissing you senseless in your dreams. Your displeased groan would reverberate against the seedy motel walls and all you wanted to do was throw the device away.

A lonely night, when you had chugged down all the alcohol within your reach, and had only paused your drinking to retch into the toilet, your phone vibrated in your front pocket. A trembling hand brought it out, thumb pressing the green button and you pressed it to your ear.

“Idjit, where the hell are you?” a stern voice made you groan, leaning your forehead on the cool ceramic tiles of the bathroom floor.

“Hey, Bobby,” your voice drawled out, your state of intoxication not exactly concealing the horrific emotional state you were in.

“Tell me where you are, girl, or I swear—”

“Metairie,” you coughed loudly, only serving to worry your surrogate uncle more. “I’ll turn on my phone’s GPS, okay?”

“You better,” he threatened before clicking. Disdainfully, you kept your word and turned on your location, letting sleep overtake you as your head leaned against the bathtub.

* * *

“What did she say?” Sam leaned forward, urging Bobby to inform him of your state.

“She’s not doing well, at all,” the older man sighed, swiping his cheek in worry.

“And neither is he,” the younger Winchester gestured towards his brother, who laid on the couch, having collapsed on it almost ten hours ago. He had drunken himself to stupor and nothing Sam nor Bobby did had stopped him.

“Do you have a case we can solve around Louisiana?” the young man questioned.

“I’ll check around to see if anyone has seen something suspicious,” Bobby got on his feet, shooting one last pitying look at Dean before stepping out.

Sam shook his head, closing his laptop and deciding to call it a day. Checking up on his brother, he was satisfied to see that Dean seemed to be breathing just fine and made his way to the nearest bedroom, colliding into the mattress.

Dean groaned as he hit the wooden floor, having rolled over without there being any more sofa space for him to do so without falling. The room spun on its axis as he opened his eyes, and he felt like someone had taken a hammer to his skull. Moving to sit up and lean himself on the couch, Dean rubbed his eyes, hissing at the throbbing in his head. He always regretted drinking this much and in chastising himself, he recalled why he had even done so in the first place.

Your face appeared in his memories and Dean suddenly missed having a beer to grab on to. You had been plaguing every minute of his existence and despite attempting to entertain himself with hunting, it had all been futile. His thoughts always placed him smack in the middle of your smile, the way your touch made electricity run across his skin, and just how stupid he had been to walk out of the room that night.

He had gone back a few hours later. He wanted to clear everything up, ask you out for dinner and tell you just how frustrated he was about not having you next to him. He found an empty motel room, the owner screaming at him for having interrupted her soap opera time to have her check your room because you wouldn’t answer to his frantic knocking. You were long gone.

Despite him looking everywhere, you were a hunter just like him. You knew how to hide, conceal yourself in such a way that it’d be near impossible to find you. Hunters would see you, call Dean, but by the time he arrived, you had left nothing but shoulders shrugging. It was hard to keep up with you, it was hard to get over you. Dean didn’t see himself wanting to spend all his time with anyone but you. And he wanted you to know that.

“Hey, boy, how you feelin’?” Bobby knocked the older Winchester out of his reverie, tapping Dean’s knee with his foot.

“Just peachy,” he shot Singer a sarcastic grin.

“Talked with Y/N on the phone,” the older man drawled out his words, pausing in order to let the words sink in with Dean. “She’s in Metairie. The GPS on her phone is on, you can track her down now.”

“Don’t play with me, Bobby,” the blond man scoffed, rubbing his temples.

“You think I’m bluffing, huh?” the older hunter snorted. “Well, here ya go,” he threw his cell phone on Dean’s lap, who jumped slightly before glancing down in surprise. “Go get her.”

“Bobby—”

“Just go,” he kicked at the Winchester’s foot, who responded by quickly getting up and start grabbing his stuff.

It took him 18 hours to get to where the GPS told him you were. Dean was surprised to find that you kept your location visible, half-expecting you to turn it off at any minute. The trip seemed endless as he kept dialing your number without getting any response. Worried gnawed at him, fear that you’d be far from okay once he arrived, and he wanted to yell out in frustration, punching the steering wheel every chance he got.

He finally came to the motel you were staying in, quickly scrambling out and making a beeline to the main office. After bribing the receptionist for your room number, he managed to acquire a key to it and basically ran to your designated suite.

His wrist brashly knocked on the wood, desperately and loudly. Nothing.

“Y/N,” Dean’s voice rang out. “Y/N, please, let me in.” Silence greeted him. At this, Dean threw his manners to the wind and slid key into the lock.

The door squeaked as it opened inwards, revealing darkness despite the sun shining brightly just outside the window. The bed was made a mess and clothes littered the floor. Dean’s eyes traveled across the expanse of the area, lips mumbling your name, as if that could bring you out of hiding. His heart thundered in his chest, you were nowhere to be found.

There was a sudden noise, shuffling behind a closed door and Dean’s eyes snapped to see that light shone out from underneath it. Stepping forward, he brought himself to it, reaching for the doorknob. Relieved that it wasn’t locked, he held his breath and pulled it open.

You were sitting on the edge of the bathtub, head cradled in your hands. Your hair was up in a messy bun and Dean could see the dark circles under your eyes, they resembled the ones he also bore on his own face.

“Y/N,” he spoke softly, hand reaching out.

Your head snapped up and your eyes widened when you laid them on him. Thinking you’d jump up in attack, Dean held out his hands, showing you he’d do nothing to defend himself. Yet you surprised him.

“Dean,” you smiled.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me,” he relaxed, relief flooding his limbs and relaxing his shoulders.

Instead of responding, you began to laugh, loudly and hysterically. Your mind couldn’t wrap around Dean Winchester standing before you. You thought yourself delirious at actually thinking he’d be in the same room as you. Last you heard, the Winchesters were with Bobby Singer in Sioux Falls. That was more than 15 hours from Metairie.

Dean tilted his head in confusion, brow furrowing at your reaction at seeing him. You recalled the amount of alcohol you had been ingesting and promised to never drink so much, it all had you thinking that the older Winchester now stood before you with his arms held out.

Blinking rapidly in order to have him disappear, you became increasingly frustrated when he wouldn’t. You frantically rubbed at your eyes, squinting them when Dean kneeled in front of you and placed his hands on your knees. Your laughter immediately died, feeling his warm touch through your denim pants.

“What?” your lips parted and a gasp escaped them.

“Sweetheart, it’s really me,” he smiled widely.

“You can’t be here, though,” you pushed away at his shoulders, making him stumble backwards. “There is no way you’re here.”

“I am, and I just—”

“Dean, you left,” the tears were unbidden as they brimmed over and ran down your cheeks.

“I know, baby, I know,” he sighed, shoulders slumping as his arms itched to reach up and take you into his embrace.

“I was stupid enough to think you’d stay the night at least once,” you sobbed out, fingers curling into a fist and weakly punching him. “I was so stupid and now I’m still hoping that you have—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean squeezed your knee, urging you to continue.

“Fuck, why am I even telling you all of this?” you laughed dryly. “You don’t care. Bobby probably sent you to look out for me. Why isn’t Sam here instead?”

“I came of my own will, Y/N,” Dean moved to kneel, his torso pressing to your knees as his long, muscular arms wounded themselves around your hips.

“Then you’re stupid, too,” you spat. “Our relationship is nothing but sexual,” you got on your feet, ignoring as he struggled to keep his balance, and walked out of the bathroom. Dean scrambled to his feet and followed suit.

“Y/N,” he made to reach for your wrist, but you pulled away, face contorting in disgust at his touch. He retracted his hand at this, gulping thickly as he felt tears burn hot behind his eyes.

“Dean, why are you here?” you sat on the foot of your bed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Exhaustion was beginning to make it impossible to argue with him, your only hope is in your words being harsh enough for him to understand that you wanted him gone.

“I—” he cleared his throat, voice getting stuck momentarily before he gathered enough guts to say what he had never said to anyone but family. “I love you, Y/N. With everything I have, with everything I am and ever will be, I am in love with you.”

“No,” you snapped your head up to glare at him, eyes wild with fury. “You don’t barge in here and say that. I’m not going to go crawling back to you.”

“Y/N, I’m not lying,” he pleaded.

“Do you know how fucking insane you drove me?” your voice began to rise. “My liver is probably a mess by now. I haven’t slept a full night in months. And it is all because of you, because I agreed to your stupid little contract. I shut my mouth to have you close to me,” you couldn’t stop your tears by now, they were running freely down your flushed cheeks.

“Oh, and you think it was all dandy for me, huh?” Dean couldn’t hold himself back anymore. “You think that while you were off doing God knows what, I was smiling and thinking the world full of rainbows? I haven’t slept either, I have craved you in more than a physical way. I have found myself thinking of you more often than not. I have found that my world revolves around you.”

“Then why did you walk out?” your voice was small. That was the only question that remained in your mind. If Dean claimed to have felt the same way that you did for him, why had he left that night?

“Because—” he sighed, eyes focused on the ground before darting up to glance at you. “I thought you didn’t want me around, Y/N. You basically ran out of the room once we finished. I knocked on the bathroom door, hoping you’d tell me to stay.”

“I wanted to, oh fuck, I wanted to,” you cradled your head in your hands.

“I’m not going to walk away, not ever again, sweetheart,” Dean took your wrists and pulled you up to stand with him. Your eyes met his own emerald ones and before you knew it, he had crashed his lips against yours.  


End file.
